


I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

by Baidar



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Animal Death, F/M, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Multi, Smoki, bear with it!, fem!Loki, no dragon sex involved, weird shit happening here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baidar/pseuds/Baidar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been nearly a millennia since the last dragons were forced away from Asgard. Now, a thousand years later, the dragon, Smaug, returns to claim his birthright from the Asgardians and Loki is caught in the ensuing chaos that follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Dare to Claim the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> I dub this ship...SMOKI
> 
> Also, don't be scared--Loki will not have sex with a giant dragon.  
> slight first draft--i just wanted to get it up but i will edit it out more later on, though not drastically
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
> The free bird leaps  
> on the back of the wind  
> and floats downstream  
> till the current ends  
> and dips his wings  
> in the orange sun rays  
> and dares to claim the sky.  
> ~Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

 

 

In the days of old, before even the building of the city who gave its name to this realm known as Asgard, dragons were quite common in the land. They were fire, they were death, and they were hated by all of the inhabitants for their destructive ways and arrogant manner and their love for gold. It was not unusual to stumble into a cave in any mountain range and find one of those winged reptiles curled over its own pile of plundered wealth and guarding veins of the precious material in the rock. Greed was a very powerful motivator and the goal of dragon hunting was to evict the fire-drakes from their hoard of gold.

Many warriors from all walks of life joined in the slaughter of dragons. Dragons are far from defenseless with their fearsome breath and sharp fangs and claws. The monsters did not lie over and let the hunters walk over them; they fought and defended their riches with the ferocity of a mother protecting her offsprings. But that did not stop the hunters from searching for dragons. Most of these treasure-seekers were unsuccessful in their attempts and ended up inside the dragon’s belly or nothing more than a smoldering corpse decorating the caves of dragon lairs. A few made names for themselves once they had killed the dragons and claimed the gold as their own.

It came to a time, many years later, when the populations of dragons dwindled and seemed to disappear altogether from the inhabited lands. Dragon gold flowed freely from hand to hand until everyone forgot that monstrous reptiles had once slept on it and guarded it with their lives. Eventually, a certain warrior named Bor who had stolen a king’s ransom of dragon’s wealth from the beasts, took it upon himself to spend the gold and build the city of Asgard that lent its name to the entire realm. From that city, Bor marched forth with his armies paid with ancient riches to claim the lands that he now was king over and bring justice to the other realms. Though many Asgardians were unaware of the fact, the city of Asgard had been built on dragon’s blood and gold.

Nevertheless, the story of the dragons continued to unfold despite their species’ demise at the hands of the ancient Asgardian warriors. Some travelers continued to exchange tales of mountains that still smoldered with dragonfire and smoke in the furthest, most barren wastelands.

In truth, the few fire-drakes that remained decided to move away from the areas of dense population and live their lives in the far reaches of the northern mountain ranges. However, as the years rolled by, the dragon population grew again despite their millennia-plus-long life cycle and the northern stretches of mountains grew a bit too crowded for many dragons’ tastes. A couple of the fledgelings grumbled and moved further north again to even more desolate regions in a search for gold deposits and land of their own while others fought with the more mature dragons for their territories.

It is with one of these latter dragons with whom we begin our story. His name is Smaug and he had left his mother’s nest for some decades already but had not yet found his own lair to call home. Smarting after a defeat from another of his kind, the enterprising young dragon decided to ignore the occupied dragon lands and set his molten-gold eyes south towards Asgardian lands despite the fact that it was a dragon taboo to pass into occupied territory of the All-father. However, the allure of so much land was too much in the end.

It is here we begin our tale with Smaug setting his wing to where no dragon had set wings for many hundreds of years…

 

To someone who had never seen a dragon, Smaug could be called quite a handsome creature. His deep, wine-red scales shone with pinpricks of crimson blood when the sun glanced off the hard keratin. His wings, ending in long black talons, were wide expanses of tough, burgundy. Now his head, with its growing crown of horns, was finely shaped like that of a prize horse’s, but much, much more reptilian, of course. The pale gleam of ivory teeth was barely revealed from between his scaly lips. Smaug, when crawling along the ground, could easily look into the highest window of a five story house and his wingspan could easily cover most of one if not all of a Midgardian (American) football field. What was most striking to the villager who stood stock still against the barn was Smaug’s hypnotic gaze, a bright, burning gold shot through with flaming embers of orange and red.

And that was the last sight the hapless Asgardian ever saw as Smaug reached down to swallow the man. Tossing his head back to facilitate swallowing, the dragon watched the herds of cattle flee over the crest of the hill but these slow herbivores could not think of outrunning him! Spreading his voluminous wings, Smaug lifted himself off the ground and soared after the bovines, spewing out gouts of hot fire from his mouth to hinder them. After a while, he settled himself down to a lunch of beef, his fangs snapping and crunching through bone as he ate what he had caught of the herd.

 

From an outpost nearby, a couple of Asgardian soldiers watched the destruction meted out by the dragon. At first, they had scoffed at the reports of the fire-drake coming out of the desolate north and dismissed the news as the lunatic raving of a few. But now as they watched Smaug feast on the cattle of the poor farmer, they swallowed the bile that was rising up in their throats and looked at each other.

“What in the name of Bor’s beard is going on here?”

The shout from the local governor snapped the guards out of their trance. Their guilty eyes found the glare of the official and merely gestured at the dragon feasting on the remains of the farmer’s cattle. The governor’s mouth dropped open into his brown beard as he watched along with them. Then, with his eyes on the scene, Smaug again spread his wings and flew off again, disappearing into the clouds. It is only then the governor took action, shaking his head as he hurried down the steps of the watchtower.

“We must alert the All-father. Dragons! Never have I heard of dragons in Asgard!” the official muttered to himself, tugging at his beard, as he took down the stairs to deliver a message to the city of Asgard.

 

In the golden, radiant city of Asgard, Loki heard the blowing of the ram’s horn that roused him from his slumber, tucked against his equine son, Sleipnir. The stallion raised his head to nuzzle his father awake and gently nipped the god’s ears with his flat, white teeth. Loki’s hand came up to playfully slap the celestial horse as he rose onto his feet, pulling off strands of hay and bedding from his clothing.

As the last dying notes of the ram horn faded, Loki found himself wondering what was so urgent to call a council meeting as the ram horn signified. It was only in times of great crisis that the All-father even called a gathering of this sort outside of the appointed times.

“I will be back, Sleipnir,” Loki promised the stallion who snorted softly as his big dark eyes watched Loki exit.

The young god watched as the members of the council streamed into the main hall of Asgard where a massive table had been set down. As the royal princes of Asgard, Loki and his oaf of a brother, Thor, were granted seats on both sides of the All-father. Thor had claimed the right one and, despite the fact that the moron was not present, Loki sat himself down on the seat to the left of Odin’s throne, his pale eyes searching the faces of the arriving councilors who took their own seats and waited for the meeting to begin.

Odin’s chamberlain stepped out and puffed his chest imperiously. “Make way for his royal Majesty, King Odin All-father!” the man boomed aloud as Odin’s gaunt and elderly figure entered, clutching his staff of authority.

Loki offered a thin smile to his father as Odin set himself down on his throne.

“Let the courier come forth,” Odin declared, tapping his staff against the ground with authoritative, metallic clang.

The young prince watched the messenger enter. From his studies, Loki knew that they were nothing more than telepath magicians who were adept at communicating with others with similar skills all across the Nine Realms. He settled back into his seat as he waited for the message.

“A message from Governor Bovir Magnusson,” the messenger stated. Closing his eyes, he began reciting: “Greetings, King All-father. There is a dragon terrorizing our lands, your Majesty. I know you may think of this as a—“

Suddenly, the double doors swung open again as Thor burst into the hall. He was shadowed by a group of his drunken excuses for friends who did not enter the hall but instead hung around the entrance. “Was that not deserving to be put on the annals of Asgard?” the thunder god laughed as he entered, slamming the door shut again. With that, the great, blundering idiot pulled his oafish grin onto his face and spread his hands wide out before asking, “Have I missed anything, Father?”

Loki offered Thor a tense grin as his brother made his way to his seat and Odin, waving a hand towards the empty seat on his right, answered, “Sit, Thor.”

The council was rather used to Thor’s late entrances and so did not do much but mark it as another time and continued on with business. The messenger cleared his throat and offered a polite smile before he continued, “A dragon has been terrorizing the northern holdings and Governor Magnusson requires aid in subduing the beast.”

Loki made note of the fact that the messenger had greatly summarized his message before Thor’s fist slammed down on the table forcefully.

The thunder god rose up from his seat. “I will play your dragon-killer, Father, and bring further glory to Asgard when I bring its skull home to decorate this hall,” Thor declared with a huge, radiant grin on his face.

“A dragon has not been seen in these lands for many years and this will not be just a regular hunt, Thor,” Odin cautioned, his single eye narrowing slightly.

“Father, you have seen me in battle. Do you doubt my abilities? I am of age as an Asgardian and I wish to slay this beast as a test of my manhood to prove myself to you,” Thor continued, a slightly injured expression crossing his face.

Hiding a smile with a hand, Loki rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm. Though Thor had no idea what he was doing, the young god knew that Odin would give in to his oldest son. Odin could never say no to the favorite prince.

Leaning back into his throne, Odin seemed to consider his options carefully, his pale eye pensive as he thought. Then, he rose again, allowing his gaze to wander over the members of the council. “Prince Thor will lead the hunt,” he declared slowly much to Thor’s delight. The older prince grinned as he banged a fist against his armored chest to the applause of a few councilors who approved of his foolish, blind bravery. Classic Asgardians.

Loki allowed a small snort to escape him as he prepared to leave. Oh, perhaps the dragon could teach the aggressive idiot a lesson in humility. Perhaps even—

“Prince Loki shall accompany the hunt and assist his brother,” Odin finished and banged the butt of his staff against the ground again.

The younger prince looked up in slight confusion. Him? Loki had planned to peruse a tome on secret passageways of Asgard collected by Snorri the Wander! He was rising up to protest before Thor’s hand slammed him back down to his seat. “I shall toughen up that spine of yours, Loki,” Thor promised with another one of his brilliant smiles.

Loki resisted the urge to slap Thor in the face.

 

It took some convincing to bring Sleipnir along as his steed though Loki’s son was being raised as Odin’s war horse. Loki had appealed to Frigga and Frigga had then demanded that Loki should spend time with his offspring. Thus, the silver-tongued god received what he wanted.

Astride the young stallion, Loki had traveled with Thor north. After the hunting party had left the capital city, it did not take them long to note the signs of the dragon’s desolation. Apparently, the fire-drake had flown south to terrorize lands closer to Asgard.

The smell of smoke offended Loki’s nose as Sleipnir took him past the destruction of burnt cropland. The stallion’s eyes were wide as it took stock of the landscape and Sleipnir’s uneasiness seemed to flow into Loki as well.

“There, the dragon has made its lair in those ancient stones, Prince Thor,” someone called up ahead, gesturing towards a ruined castle where some lord once ruled in the days when dragons roamed the lands. It was situated along with the remnants of a dock that jutted out into the massive inland sea that the castle claimed as a neighbor.

The announcement was all Thor needed to spur his horse into a charge towards the castle which was still some distance away. Ignoring the shouts of the older officers sent to babysit the princes, Thor let loose a wild laugh as he brandished his hammer. Most of the officers were hesitant on following the thunder god but loyalty to their king urged them forward and the great host rolled on towards the castle.

Meanwhile, Loki was calming his son down after the sudden rush, his cheeks against Sleipnir’s muscular neck and his hands caressing the horse’s ears. “Idiots, all of them,” Loki muttered fiercely. “Is this a king that you would follow?” 

Sleipnir rolled his eyes and whickered as he lifted himself on his four back hooves before trotting forward after the hunting party. A small fond smile flitted across the young prince’s face as he gently patted the stallion’s neck. “Well, you’re an idiot, too, then,” Loki teased as he sat up in the saddle. He himself was watchful despite his easy manner—should the situation get any worse, he would turn immediately away from whatever trouble that was about to explode.

Thor had made his way to the ruined pathway to the castle, his small, red-cloaked figure tiny but bold as it walked the worn stones that had once paved the great avenue. From his angle, Loki could not see what exactly was inside the castle but from Thor’s bellowed challenges, he assumed that the dragon was in full view of all those who were with Thor. Loki could read fear in their faces and frowned; Asgard’s finest warriors rendered kittens by this dragon? They had braved wars with the fierce Frost Giants and all the other monsters populating the Nine Realms yet they were shaking like leaves in the autumn wind in the face of this one creature?

There was a slight glimmer of hesitation on Thor’s face but the prince wiped it away. Raising his hammer, the thunder god roared aloud like a young lion. “Come out, slug! Your days of terror are over!”

Loki bit his lip, wishing that Thor had listened to the officers and initiated that more covert, clever operation that they had all agreed upon but that was too late, wasn’t it? Safe with Sleipnir a healthy distance away, Loki had half a mind to allow the stallion to graze and settle himself down to watch the ensuing fight.

 

Smaug had been resting after another day of pillaging. For him, the terror of the Asgardians was addictive and he wished to feed on it again and again and again. His daily tormenting served to provide a rush of power through him. After all, he was the king of the sky! He owned the heavens above Asgard now and all of their previous, pitiful attacks on him had failed. Now, the dragon had set his eyes on the gleaming jewel of Asgard. Perhaps, he could kill Odin and rule over the land.

Noises outside caused him to slide over his small hoard of treasure, the coins clinking almost in a musical manner as the dragon started towards the entrance. Long claws clicked against the ruined marble floors as his scales and wings rustled against castle stones.

Some sort of Aesir warrior stood in front of him, red cloak billowing about his shoulders. A hammer was clutched in one hand and Smaug couldn’t help but let out a snort, a finger of flame flashing from his nostrils as he prowled forward. Thor’s insult rang in his ears and the dragon’s molten eyes narrowed in annoyance. “ _Over_? No, they are just the beginning,” he growled in a low, rumbling tremor as he reared out from the castle, his shadow cloaking the Asgardian hunting party in darkness as his crimson wings partly unfurled to accommodate the space outside the castle.

Lips parting slightly, Smaug surged forward suddenly, a jet of hot fire spouting from his mouth as he sought to incinerate Thor. However, the little Asgardian suddenly _flew_ away, dodging the attack only to slam his hammer to the hard scaly pelt. Pupils narrowing in mild surprise as he felt a slight tingle course through his shoulder, the dragon snapped at Thor with sharp teeth, snagging onto the prince’s red cloak and threw Thor to the ground.

At that time, the hunting party was surging forward. A few arrows clinked off his scales and their blows to his tough hide were rather ineffectual. Smaug let loose a roar as he reached down, separating a few torsos from their legs with snapping bites.

Suddenly, Thor managed to slam his hammer down on one of Smaug’s toes and the dragon let out a snarl of pain, releasing the prince who again soared away from the scaled behemoth. “Run, little _mouse_ ,” Smaug snarled in amusement.

Allowing his long tail to whip away some of the soldiers, Smaug launched forward into the air, his wide wings catching the wind as he lifted himself off the ground. Tucking his back legs close to his body, the dragon wheeled around to sow flamed destruction onto the remnants of the hunting party. White-hot fire jetted from his red maw as he attacked again.

“Look here, you worm! Your horns would make a fine trophy for my father’s throne room!”

The shout came from above and Smaug turned his head to see Thor high up in the atmosphere with one arm holding his little toy among the clouds. For a moment, Smaug hesitated to follow the prince up there but his pride took over. He would crush this idiot like all the others before; Smaug would not suffer an insult, especially not from this arrogant princeling, the whelp of Asgard’s king! A descendant of one who had driven the dragons from their ancestral lands!

Pumping his wings fiercely, the dragon shot upwards away from the earth. Smaug was focused on the small red figure of Thor and did not notice or simply dismissed the storm clouds swirling around them in a raging vortex. “You cannot run from my wrath, _princeling_ ,” Smaug snarled, his fangs glistening in the little sunlight that filtered through the dark clouds. “I will make your death all that much slower to compensate for my pleasure and the eternity of crimes your kind has committed against mine.”

Suddenly, Thor brought his hammer down, pointing it towards the dragon. A bolt of lightning arced out from the brewing nebulous billows that churned about the sky and lanced straight into Smaug. A deafening roar—that of the dragon’s pain and surprise and the terrible scream of electricity—filled the hot air. The dragon’s winged figure was silhouetted by the bright light for the briefest few heartbeats before the livid, rage-filled eyes closed and the great neck drooped and the wings ceased flapping.

The mammoth body then began its plummet towards earth, trailing streamers of smoke from its steaming hide.

 

Loki grimaced as he saw Smaug’s body smash into the pristine surface of the sea, sending huge waves crashing onto shore. There, the dread deed was done. The dragon was slain and he could go home to his books again.

Unlike his son Sleipnir who bore with the loud, frightening sounds of battle with solid resilience like a true war horse, Loki had winced with each spout of fire and each roar. That dragon was terrifying! He had never felt such fear course through his veins and Loki found himself clutching the stallion’s mane tightly with white-knuckled fingers. As he took stock of the situation, he released the long hanks of hair and pulled down his usual poker face again, his emotions unreadable.

Loki’s ears were still ringing from Smaug’s final roar as Sleipnir began trotting down towards the battlefield where fine ash and soot seemed to cover everything. Flames still burned on the shrubs that served as torches and the cries of the dying were loud and harrowing. Loki ignored all of that as he watched his brother descend from the heavens.

“Oh, at last,” he muttered, barely suppressing a roll of his eyes just as Thor slammed into the ground again.

Rising up from his crouch, Thor spread his arms as if to embrace Loki but Loki shook his head and politely refused his brother’s offer, possibly due to the amount of grime that covered the prince’s shining armor. The older brother was in poor form with his cloak shredded to bits from the dragon’s sharp teeth and his breastplate scored and gouged by high temperatures.

“Did you not see how I struck the beast with a thunderbolt while you were cowering yonder, brother?” Thor teased as he brought his hands down to roughly pat Loki.

“It was worthy of penning down on the pages of Asgard’s history,” Loki remarked with a thin smile, deciding to humor his brother. Another deed to add to his brother’s list of achievements. Odin would be proud of his older son while shoving Loki into the shadows. Yet _again_. Just another episode of blind luck and foolish bravery that Thor managed to blunder through and survive intact.

“You, brother, shall share in my glory. You will write down the story of this battle in the chronicles for all the future generations of Asgard to marvel upon, my scholar,” Thor answered with a huge grin as he embraced Loki.

Loki was about to push his stinking, sweat-soaked brother away before one of the officers rescued him by offering Thor a tally of the dead and wounded. However, Thor merely began heading towards the beachfront. Loki found himself following, wondering what his brother was doing before the oaf began shouting again, sending pain through Loki’s tender ear-drums.

“I want the body recovered,” Thor ordered, gesticulating towards the waves that covered the dragon’s grave.

The officer frowned slightly as he looked at the prince. Keeping a straight face despite the blood and soot on his features, he allowed a tense smile onto his lips as he argued, “It will be a near impossible task, Prince Thor. Did you not see the size of the beast? We are counting over twenty dead and scores more wounded—“

“It’s not dead yet,” Loki remarked, cutting off the officer as he gestured towards the waters. The two men followed the younger prince’s pale eyes that were fixated on the boiling surface of the formerly pristine waters. The sea rumbled and churned as the waves began to eat away furiously at the beach and splashed onto their boots so that even Thor backed away from the raging waters.

Suddenly, the dragon—blackened, steaming, but still alive—burst out of the crests of the tall waves. The winds knocked Loki, Thor, and the officer down as the dragon slammed down onto earth again, claws sinking against the loose substrate of the beachfront as the ground shook beneath his ponderous steps. The beast seemed to ignore the three Asgardians as it crawled along the ground at a frenzied pace, blazing eyes wide with fury.

“You think you have defeated me?” Smaug roared, pausing and turning to briefly lock eyes with Thor. “You will neither see me dead or my head a prize in your _doomed_ halls, pup of Asgard!”

Baring his sharp white fangs, Smaug reared up to his full impressive height, his gaze smoldering with millennium’s worth of ancient bitter rancor. His terrible voice shook the earth as he continued to address them.

“I will set your vile city to _flames_ , tear the walls down on your _heads_ , and render Asgard a desolate _wasteland_ for the next millennia! That will be _dragon_ vengeance!”

Jerking his head around and pointing his muzzle south towards Asgard, Smaug broke into a run before he launched himself off the ground. His wings billowing out with the swell of air, the dragon flapped a few times as he soared off into the horizon.

Smaug’s last few words echoed off the land: “I am fire. I am _death_!”

The dragon’s vow had rendered Thor and Loki both speechless as they stared after the quickly diminishing figure of the great beast.

It was Thor who stirred the company to action again. “TO ASGARD! WITH ALL SPEED!” the prince roared as he began swinging his hammer to soar off into the sky again after Smaug and leaving the others to catch up.

“Oh, by Bor’s beard…what have you done, brother?” Loki murmured, his mouth a tight line as he began to head towards Sleipnir again. “I would have thought you could have done a better job in killing the beast, Thor.”

Sensing the urgency for speed, the stallion was already heading towards the younger prince even before Loki had begun his approach. Before his father was seated securely on his saddle, the horse already shot off, his eight hooves kicking the dirt up as he charged south.

Loki hung grimly on the reins as the swiftest horse on all the Nine Realms carried him in a race to Asgard against possibly one of the greatest calamities to befall the city in his life.


	2. I Seldom See Through The Bars of Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But a bird that stalks  
> down his narrow cage  
> can seldom see through  
> his bars of rage  
> his wings are clipped and  
> his feet are tied  
> so he opens his throat to sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very sorry about the update that took forever. Editing it was a pain in the neck.

_Vengeance._

That was the only hunger in his belly that day as he continued on his flight to Asgard.

His kind, dragonkind, had reigned supreme for countless years before those filthy insects crawling in the mud decided to kill his people and steal the stores of wealth. The names of Bor and all the Asgardian ‘heroes’ were uttered with nothing but pure contempt by his mother, the great dragon queen Tyrazca, who was one of the last few survivors of the great genocide.

While playing amongst his mother’s paltry pile of riches, Smaug had listened to his mother as she eagerly fed him on lurid tales of death, about how his birthright in the form of that wonderful, bright gold had been taken by those who now used it to establish their own rule on the stolen lands. Asgard was the great enemy to be crushed and conquered again so all the remaining dragons could each claim their own sizeable chunk of wealth again. All dragons should be content to sleep under their mountains in golden happiness. But that dream was stolen by Asgard.

After he had left his mother’s nest, Smaug had taken the customary route of attempting to claim his own mountain. Unlike other dragons, Smaug was far more desperate. He would not become like one of those ever-hungry drakes soaring in the empty skies. He was descended from a noble line of dragons and deserved more! He would have land and wealth in the south.

_Vengeance._

He turned south thinking about the stories his mother told of vast treasures and gleaming mountains of gold that his kind once slept on.

Now, steering himself ever south again—this time towards Asgard—the great hulk of the dragon sent the Aesir swarming about in the mud below scattering from his black shadow. After suffering from the lightning bolt, Smaug had briefly lost consciousness as he dropped into the water. If he had slammed into the earth, the impact would have definitely killed him and he knew that he had survived to perform his purpose. The fates had directed his thoughts and desires south to find land and claim gold—he was here to usher in a new era for his kind!

Smaug would have paused to land and put even more fear into their hearts but not today. Today, he would complete the vengeance against the Asgardians. Even the taste of the word was as sweet as the flesh of a young lamb as he uttered the nine letters and two syllables in his mind again.

_Vengeance!_

 

* * *

 

 

No creature could outrun Sleipnir. That was the only thought in Loki’s mind as he dismounted, his raiment disheveled from his mad ride back to Asgard. The grooms of the stables were surprised to see him back so soon but did not offer any words to the young prince. Thor did not seem to be back yet; otherwise, the place would be a buzz of activity as they prepared Asgard’s defenses against the desolation that would be brought on the wings of Smaug.

Sleipnir bumped his head against Loki’s shoulder before he was led away by the royal grooms. Loki offered a tense smile before he dashed off towards the throne room where Odin would be whiling away the day with his officials, handling the affairs of the state. His feet slamming on the steps as he raced upwards into the great hall, Loki cast a quick spell over himself so that he would be presentable.

Heads raised as Loki entered through the double doors.

“Loki, have you slain the dragon?” Odin queried, mildly surprised at how quickly his younger son had returned.

Loki wanted to draw out his moment of glory for a bit before he knelt down, bowing his head. “I come with news,” he began, his voice echoing off the pillars of the hall. Everyone in the room seemed to lean forward in anticipation and Odin’s single eye narrowed as he wondered what exactly Loki had to say.

The prince drew out his silence for some time before the All-father spoke, “Where is Thor?”

“The dragon is heading towards Asgard. It seeks to destroy it,” Loki continued, rising up as he pointedly ignored his father’s question and reveled in that small moment of rebellion. His voice rang in the silence that ensued as the echoes of his words faded away.

Time slowed to a molasses trickle as the gravity of the events sunk into the minds of the Asgardians present. Shock was etched on the councilors’ faces and they seem to be statues. It was Odin who acted and broke the illusion.

“Man all the towers,” Odin ordered, his voice much more authoritative than before. “Send all available soldiers to the walls—we will not allow the beast to get to the heart of the city!”

As the officials dashed away, Loki and Odin were left alone in the room. They both regarded each other warily, true intentions hidden away behind a mask of calm that they had both mastered.

“Where is Thor, Loki?” Odin asked again, his fingers visibly clenching on the staff. The trickster god found his spell of concealment fading away, revealing him in marked out in grime and dirt.

Loki could barely hide an expression of surprise at this gesture—surely his father did not dislike him that much to believe that Loki had done something to his older brother? They would fight, yes, but Loki didn’t recall a time when he wanted his brother killed. Maybe injured in his bull-headed blundering, but never killed. Odin really distrusted him enough to suspect that Loki had a hand in killing Thor? Odin had obviously preferred his older son over his other quiet offspring but this confrontation was the nail that slammed the idea into his mind. The thought rankled Loki and it sunk the roots of its poison deep into his mind.

Despite his venomous thoughts, he offered his father a disarming smile. “Thor is close behind. I arrived first on Sleipnir to bring the news here,” Loki answered.

Odin merely nodded before heading off down the stairs, not even offering Loki a congratulatory well done.

The young prince’s nostrils flared as he sought to control his ire. Pulling a cold face over his features again, Loki trotted after Odin, wondering why his father was going into the palace instead of leading the defenses as he should be doing.

 

* * *

 

 

The gleaming walls of Asgard came into view and Smaug let out a roar of triumph. Let the Aesir know that he was coming. He wanted to hear their screams of terror. He wanted to see the panic in their eyes. He wanted to smell the fear in the air. He wanted to revel in the products of his wrath!

Shimmering bolts of energy began to shoot forth from the walls but Smaug angled himself upwards, soaring high above the walls and even higher than that until the lasers they fired at him shimmered and disappeared into eventual ineffectiveness. A couple of the beams hit him but his tough hide took the attacks as if they were nothing more than bubbles blown at him.

Finally, when he was above the center of the city, Smaug folded his wings and dropped down like a swooping falcon. Just before he was to slam into the earth, his wings flared out wide, threatening on the point of stretching and breaking under the strain, before they caught him on a pillow of air right above the palace. His claws scrabbled for a hold as he used his tail to sweep away the small crafts that they sent against him. They were nothing more than young saplings that bent and snapped before the hurricane of his flaming rage.

“Where are you, King of Asgard? I want you to see your city one last time before I set it to flames and end you!” Smaug challenged as his burning eyes searched for something to fixate on. Something.

Suddenly, the all-too-familiar figure of Thor slammed into his cheek. Smaug’s massive head smashed into the palace towers, sending giant chunks of stone onto the roads below. The wound was bleeding and as a small trickle of blood coursed down his neck, Smaug let out another savage hiss.

“Whelp of Asgard, you are too late. You think you can defeat me?” the dragon bellowed, reaching out to claw at Thor. However, his foothold on the smooth stonework of the building slipped slightly, causing the fire-breathing reptile to miss his attack on the thunder god.

“No, beast, _you_ are too late.”

Smaug turned his head downwards to where the voice came from. It turned out to an old man with a beard and one eye. He looked awfully frail and small, nothing like the youth that had challenged him earlier. A hint of a grin tugged at his scaly lips—this was Asgard’s best? Or was it another idiot thinking they could best him? Smaug had found those two terms synonymous.

Lowering his head so that his head was level with that of the All-father, the dragon narrowed his smoldering eyes. “Who are you, decrepit fool?” Smaug queried in a smooth, rumbling purr of amusement. Turning his head half-way, he continued, “Ah, you must be the ruler of this city. The King of _Asgard_.”

“Father, I can handle the beast!” Thor roared as he zoomed by to hit the dragon again with another blow from his hammer only to have Smaug turn his head and strike at the prince. This time, he did not miss and Thor slammed to earth.

“No you cannot,” the dragon chuckled to himself. He turned himself back towards Odin, a fanged smile on his maw. “Are you ready to meet your end? Are you ready to die at the feet of Smaug?”

Suddenly, Odin drew something out from his robes. There was some sort of stone held in his hand.

A laugh exploded from Smaug’s chest but then Odin’s voice rang out again: “No, yours, dragon.”

The All-father suddenly jerked forward as he swung his arms, propelling the stone forward. As it traveled to the end of its arc, the stone struck Smaug’s scaled snout and landed back on the causeway that led from the palace.

 

* * *

 

 

Loki was watching from the shelter of the main hall’s entrance, just barely peeking out to observe Odin confront the dragon. Before Odin had stepped out to challenge the beast, the Asgardian King had made his way to the treasure vaults to fetch an artifact. Loki did not recognize the rune stone that Odin had thrown at the dragon but he acknowledged it as a rare artifact—it had been one of three nestled in midnight velvet down in the treasuries.

So Loki was visibly disappointed when the stone bounced off Smaug’s muzzle and skidded down onto the causeway, out of Loki’s view.

The dragon flared with rage, his pupils widening as he snarled, “You _senile,_ old fool, you think you can defeat—“

Suddenly, much to Loki’s surprise, the stone exploded with red light. Smaug’s form seemed to shimmer before he appeared to be sucked towards the direction of the stone. All the scaly mass that composed the dragon’s body was vacuumed down into nothing.

Loki leaned forward, eager to see what exactly had happened and was surprised to see Odin approaching a half-naked man on the causeway. The young prince noted that there were still patches of red scale and horn quickly fading into skin. Black claws shrunk back into nails on the man’s hand. Fangs disappeared into his mouth as the man jerked onto the ground, his hands clutching the stone pavement.

A roar escaped the man’s mouth as Odin bent down to pick up the stone that now glowed with burning red and orange power. A hateful gaze was raised and met with the single eyed-glare of the King. Smaug had had his dragon stolen from him.

Loki couldn’t help it as his mouth opened slightly, his pale eyes taking in every inch of the scene.

“You are done, dragon,” the All-father murmured as guards filed forward to take the now-prisoner away.

 

* * *

 

 

Loki was rather amused when Thor had wanted to parade their prisoner through the city but Odin made short work of that. The dragon, or once-dragon, had been confined to the dungeons, guarded by the most elite of Asgard’s warriors, while the council wondered what to do with their captive. Thor was conspicuously absent as he celebrated the victory with his friends in the drinking taverns while the younger prince was left to listen to the affairs of the state.

So who would make the better king?

Leaning on his elbow, Loki followed the conversation with much interest, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he heard their arguments. The sound of reconstruction rang through the golden halls, repairing the damage that had been done by the fire-drake.

“Your majesty, that creature attempted to destroy the city. We need to execute it as punishment for its crimes!” one elderly official shouted, raising his fist. There was a chorus of agreement from many of the councilors.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, other high officials touted, “This dragon could be the first of many. We should question the beast first before deciding anything on this issue.”

“A beast! That’s all it is! You cannot reason with a beast like that!”

“Are we not beasts if we do not judge with reason and allow the dragon to speak?”

Eventually, Odin clanged his staff against the floor again and the room fell into silence as all eyes turned to the All-father.

“Bring the dragon.”

Loki sat up a little bit, his pale eyes alert as he heard the guards hurry off to do their king’s bidding. While they were gone, the hall lulled back into its usual chattering until the first of the guards appeared. The clinking and clanking of chains against chains rang against the halls. The hissing drag of metal weights on the floor sounded almost like a dragon’s tail slithering along the marble floor.

The dragon came into the throne room with his head held high. It seemed that there were still traces of his former shape remaining on his human form in the burning yellow eyes narrowed into slits of rage and the high-angled cheeks that framed his long face. He was clothed in a kilt belted around his waist that left his chest bare. The only wound that showed was a fading, scabbed bruise on his cheek.

Smaug was led up to the throne of Asgard but he still stood tall, his lean frame erect as his gold eyes met Odin’s single-eyed glare. Though the dragon bore chains on his wrists and feet, he didn’t seem weighed down by the heavy iron. Loki was mildly amused as Smaug held Odin’s gaze evenly without flinching.

“Dragon, why have you come breaking the peace in Asgard?” Odin queried, leaning forward slightly from his golden throne. The old man was steady, his single eye focused on the Smaug.

The dragon was quiet, just blinking as his flat, yellow glare looked back. Smaug did not reply.

“Where did you come from? Dragons have not been seen in Asgard for a thousand years,” Odin continued as if not caring that the dragon responded at all.

When Smaug made no reply again, one of the councilors smashed a fist against the table, his form bristling with anger. “Speak when the king addresses you, beast!” he snapped, his voice resounding in the silence.

At that slight, Smaug turned his head towards the speaker. When his eyes met with that of the councilor, the Asgardian could not hold his gaze and sat back down onto his seat, visibly cowed and his eyes on his fingers as he twisted a gold ring nervously. As Odin leaned forward to speak again, Smaug spread his arms wide and directed his attention back towards Odin as the hall quieted again, each soul waiting to see what he would do.

Loki allowed a small twitch of a smile to play at the corners of his lips. This Smaug knew how to deal a power play. From all his observations of these meetings, the young prince had become well-versed with all the underhanded gestures and signs that dominated Asgardian politics. The dragon had effectively cut off Odin and brought slight shame to the king though it wasn’t exactly a punishable offense. Smaug was carefully toeing the line and Loki found himself admiring that fact.

“I am no beast,” he began, his voice a rumbling baritone that bore much more than a passing resemblance to the creature that had raged through Asgard’s capital some hours earlier. He allowed the words to sink in before raising his head and regarding at Odin again. “And I see no king before me.”

There were shouts of outrage from the councilors. More than a couple of the hot-headed ones had to be restrained by their fellows as they sought to strike Smaug to the ground. Odin raised a hand, calling for silence again. It took some time to reach even some level of quiet as many of the Asgardians muttered to each other.

“If you are no beast, you are clearly capable of thoughts and of answering the previous question,” the All-father replied, his voice calm. Loki could detect no trace of anger in those lined features.

“I am Smaug, son of Tyrazca, line of Smyrnon,” the dragon snorted as he turned to look at the councilors. The murmurings grew louder as they recognized the name of Tyrazca whom Loki had read to be one of the most fearsome dragons to ever set claw to Asgard. Her hoard, located in the mountains protecting the city, had held a considerable amount of treasure that still resided in the royal treasuries of Odin. He remembered that Bor had nearly been killed by the fearsome dragon queen before she was finally evicted from the lands.

“I have come as the rightful heir of these lands,” Smaug continued. His words brought a storm of rage from the Asgardians that even Odin could not calm immediately.

“You are heir to nothing!”

“How dare you, _worm_!”

“Kill the beast!”

Finally, Odin slammed his staff against the ground again and managed to quiet the hall again. He dipped his head as if beckoning Smaug to continue.

The dragon did so eagerly. “These lands were once ruled by dragons until the Aesir drove the last of us from your Asgard,” he hissed, his voice seething with venom. “I have just come to claim what was stolen from me and should be mine.”

“And you have failed,” Odin finished with the beginning strains of anger in his words. “You, Smaug, are king of nothing.”

Before Smaug could continue, Thor arrived, his red cape sweeping the floor as he sauntered in, all gleaming armor and flashing teeth. Loki was very annoyed by this second interruption to the proceedings and he tented his fingers as he bit back words. The older prince dipped his head at the councilors who forgave him easily enough, being the golden boy of Odin.

“What, we have not killed the creature yet?” Thor asked as he stepped up to Smaug. Loki noted that his older brother was only a few inches taller than the dragon.

There was a chorus of agreement from many of the councilors as they raised and shook their fists.

“Silence,” the king snapped again, banging the butt of his staff against the ground with a resounding clang. The All-father seemed to be doing that often with the boiling state inside the halls. As Odin handled the councilors, Thor shrugged his broad shoulders before seating himself in his usual chair.

Loki decided to use that opportunity to butt in. There was no better revenge than flouting his older brother’s desires. Rising up from his seat, the young prince allowed a small smile to cross his face as he bowed his head slightly before turning his gaze to Odin.

“Father, this dragon is the first of its kind to be in Asgard for a thousand years,” Loki began, his voice ringing. All of the councilors were enrapt; after all, Loki did not earn his title of the silver-tongued for no reason.

Spreading his hands wide, the pale prince continued, “Why should we throw away this opportunity to study the dragon and pick apart the reasoning of why he has returned? There could be more of these creatures flying south to attack us.”

There were murmurings of agreement now.

“How can we be assured that the dragon is under control?” one of the Asgardian officials asked.

“I have used a Lassensten,” Odin answered much to the awe of the council. Loki recognized the name to be that of a rare artifact of old magic capable of sealing away powers; even the name meant ‘lock-stone’ in the ancient tongue.

He held up the glowing red artifact, taking it out of the folds of his richly embroidered robes, for all of the council to see. Smaug’s yellow eyes followed the stone as it disappeared into Odin’s clothes again.

“No, he is the only dragon coming to these lands,” the All-father stated, his pale gaze reading Smaug. The dragon narrowed his eyes slightly but made no other reaction.

Turning back towards the council, Odin raised a hand. “I, Odin All-father, heir of Bor, King of Asgard, hereby sentence you to imprisonment,” he declared. There were some muttered grumblings that followed this but they died away again as the All-father continued.

“Smaug will be detained and left under the guard of Prince Thor and Prince Loki.”

Thor startled a bit, his blue gaze jerking quickly from Odin to Smaug. Meanwhile, Loki couldn’t help but allow a smug smile of amusement to spread across his face. He didn’t mind being the warden to the prisoner—it would be an interesting experience studying the dragon and Thor would most likely leave the job to his younger brother anyways. His older brother was only good at drinking, fighting, and biting off more than he could chew.

As Odin banged his staff against the ground, Loki found himself jolted out of his thoughts as his eyes followed the figure of Smaug being led away down to the dungeons.

 

* * *

 

 

The dragon slumped down onto the floor of the prison against the walls, the stone cold against his bare skin. Despite the icy feel of the walls, he reveled in the feeling of chill even though it didn’t do as well against the boiling rage inside him.

With a low growl of rage, Smaug slammed his first into the ground hoping to see a crack. Instead, he found his knuckles bloodied and the floor remaining unmarked. Closing his eyes, Smaug couldn’t help but growl with impotent rage as he felt the slow slide of scarlet blood trickling down the back of his hand. The torn skin on his knuckles quickly began knitting itself together again with what little remained of his dragon powers.

Suddenly, his head jerked up. Smaug’s nostrils flared as he stared past the golden barrier separating his cell from the passageway. Jaws clenching, the dragon’s smoldering eyes narrowed.

“I know you are here, Asgardian,” he remarked, his voice somewhere between a hiss and a snarl. “I smell you.” Smaug scanned outside and sniffed the air again, eventually ending up amused as he saw his suspicions confirmed when the younger prince of Asgard threw off his invisibility spell.

There was a small smile on Loki’s face as he strode up to barrier, his cool gaze meeting the flames of Smaug’s eyes.

Smaug quirked a brow. “What do you want?”

“Smaug,” Loki began, striding up to the barrier.

The dragon moved closer, leaner over so that their faces were just bare inches away from each other through the barrier. A slow smile spread his lips to reveal white canines. Sharp, white canines, almost like the remnants of the fangs that once could punch through metal armor.

He seemed to slide forward. Smaug placed his hand on the barrier, pulling it back as he felt a great pain lance through his arm. The dragon uttered a low growl, his pale yellow eyes looking over Loki as he gauged the Asgardian.

“You’ll find these barriers hard to break. Don’t waste your time or energy,” Loki murmured with a playful smirk twisting a corner of his lips, finally breaking the silence. “My name is Loki, of Asgard ~~, and my panties have just evaporated~~.”

“I have no need of your name,” Smaug replied turning around so that his back was to the Asgardian. ~~“But I do hope that you have another pair ready.”~~

A small snort of amusement escaped the prince as he let out a laugh. “You should think of keeping wise friends in good places, dragon,” Loki replied back smoothly.

“And what can I find as a friend in a mud-crawling Aesir?”

“If not, good friends in wise places, at least,” the prince remarked.

Smaug fell quiet at Loki’s words. Was the prince offering him an alliance of sorts? The dragon held Loki’s gaze, his gold eyes unwavering as they locked with the pale Asgardian.

The silence was heavy.

“Forgive me, I have never met a dragon before. This is quite the occasion,” Loki remarked, breaking the quiet that lay on them like a heavy down blanket. The prince spread his arms wide, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he dipped his head. “If we have nothing more to say, then I shall take my leave. Enjoy the night here in your new home.”

When Smaug didn’t reply, Loki just turned on his heels and exited, his steps echoing on the stone. The dragon followed the Asgardian’s path up the stairs and out of the dungeon. A low growl began rumbling in his throat as he slumped down again, yellow eyes narrowed as he clenched his fist, nails scraping against the ground. To come from the north to this…he would rather be dead!

The snarl building up inside him developed into a full-throated roar as he shouted aloud with rage, letting out all the emotions that swirled in a vortex inside him. Finally, he closed his eyes and felt like the iron chains he wore above in the hall were there as a phantom, realer and heavier than before as they weighed down on him. Relaxing his shoulders, he closed his eyes, hoping for some semblance of sleep to take him.

 

* * *

 

 

As Loki picked his way up the stairs, he could hear the dying strains of Smaug’s roar echo up the steps. He couldn’t help but feel pity for the poor beast, caged with his identity stolen and wings clipped.


	3. I Sing of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The caged bird sings  
> with fearful trill  
> of the things unknown  
> but longed for still  
> and his tune is heard  
> on the distant hill  
> for the caged bird  
> sings of freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my most sincere apologies for the wait time. I just started college and had writers block for some time. However, I'm hoping to keep good time with the next addition to this story. Enjoy!

It was the middle of the night in the city of Asgard. The two moons were bright in the sky, casting a silver radiance on the golden spires of the city. However, the Asgardian nights were rarely quiet as the Æsir warriors drunk the hours of darkness away with mugs and mugs of ale. Loud music, laughter, and the bright lights of lanterns were a common sight all along the city as the raucous fighters of the kingdom toasted the goodness of life.

The palace offered a small respite from the rowdiness of the streets, but that night, the sprawling complex was bright with festivity.

In the stables, Loki found that he was unable to sleep. He had promised to spend the night with Sleipnir and he made good on it. The stallion knickered softly as he woke to find the prince shifting on the bedding material.

“Go back to sleep, Sleipnir,” Loki sighed, reaching a hand to caress the lock of mane that hung down from between Sleipnir’s ears. The hairs had been braided by a careful Loki who loved to indulge on the only son Odin had allowed him to keep. Fenrir and Jormungandr and the others…all gone because they were monsters. But Sleipnir? He was a horse. He had his uses.

The horse reached forward to give Loki a playful nip before settling his head down on Loki’s lap, His dark eyes were dark as he laid there wondering what had gotten his parent so riled up that night. Most likely it was because of Thor’s victory feast. The stallion rumbled softly as he used his teeth to drag Loki back down so that the young prince had his head down on Sleipnir’s flank.

“I can’t sleep with all that noise,” the Asgardian complained bitterly. He decided to leave briefly and tell his brother to shut up, though it was highly unlikely that the older prince would agree to his demands. The greatest warrior that Asgard had ever seen was most likely drunk on the honey-sweet mead that flowed like water on nights like these.

Gathering his robes about him, Loki brushed hay off his clothes as he stepped past the sleeping stable boys and made his way into the main body of the palace. His sandals clacked loudly against the paved walkways until he saw the golden light spilling out of his brother’s wing of the palace.

The cloisters were decorated with floating candles that glowed with a healthy golden light. There was a bonfire roaring in the center of the grassy space and a large boar had been spitted over it with a cook turning the roast. The place was rather crowded and the smell of alcohol and sweat made Loki pale. Dancing girls put on a performance on a table that served as a temporary stage as Thor and his friends watched from their seats there.

Loki grimaced as he felt a heavy hand clap on his shoulder.

“What’s the matter, princeling?” the blonde warrior who held him asked. He had a young maid underneath one arm as he offered Loki a smile from underneath his well-manicured mustache.

“Business with my brother, Fandral,” Loki snapped quickly, twisting out of the warrior’s grip, he pushed his way through the masses of sweaty men until he spotted a familiar figure sitting inside a cage in the center of the cloisters. The dragon! A trophy in its display case! Loki’s lips pressed together in disapproval as he continued towards his brother.

“Keep it down, brother. There are people who wake up early in the morning,” Loki snapped in his brother’s ear. He gripped Thor’s shoulder firmly, his mouth a severe thin line as he glared at this blonde-headed oaf of a prince.

Thor turned and the mug of mead in his hand sloshed as he did so. Loki was too slow and the alcohol splashed onto his clothes but Thor didn’t seem to notice that. “Tonight is a night of victory. Celebrate with me, brother! We have a dragon as our pet now—are we not the most powerful of this generation of warriors?”

He laughed as he said so, tipping his head back to take a stiff draught of his drink. Loki suppressed a frown as he saw that some of the liquid trickled down his cheeks and chin. Disgusting. He was glad that he didn’t have to see this spectacle over and over again when he had the excuse of studying.

“You are, Thor,” Loki smiled back rather too sweetly much to Thor’s amusement. The thunder god roared in laughter as he evicted one of his acquaintances off the seat next to him and pushed Loki down to sit on the now vacant chair. The younger prince squirmed uncomfortably as he struggled to rise again but a mug of ale was forced into his hands and Thor’s strength kept him firmly planted on the seat.

A pair of gyrating buttocks hovered into view as a dancer made her way towards the brothers. That shocked and surprised him enough for him to attempt escape. Loki finally managed to twist out of Thor’s grip and rose to his feet, leaving the vicinity of the table with his mouth in a tighter line than before.

“Brother!” Thor called, half-surprised by Loki’s departure. The blonde prince made an action, as if to follow his younger brother away but he was soon offered and distracted by another mug of mead.

Sighing with disgust, Loki wandered through the crowd, pushing his way past the smelly warriors decked out in their grimy armor and sweat-stained furs. Was it fate that when he finished navigating through the Asgardians he found himself watching the not-dragon again? Some kinder soul had left an untouched mug of mead by the cage.

Loki approached the cage again, leaning close towards the metal bars of this portable jail. “Enjoying the party?” the prince spat with undue venom in his voice. He was not pleased with being kept awake and it had soured his mood. As soon as the words left his mouth, he found himself regretting that he had taunted Smaug.

Smaug raised his head slightly and he fixed Loki with that burning yellow glare. A brow arched. Then, the prince’s mouth pursed a bit at the nonreaction. “Answer me!” Loki pressed, seizing the bars of the cage with his fingers.

“Why should I, princeling?” the dragon replied with a low growl and a slight baring of his teeth. He leaned forward slightly and if there was no iron between the Asgardian and the fire drake, Loki would’ve thought that Smaug was planning on biting his nose off. The dragon looked savage enough to do that, even as a human.

The insult inflamed him and Loki was about to mutter a spell to make Smaug’s stay in the cage a bit more uncomfortable before he heard a great shout behind him. The younger prince turned to see Thor and some of his brethren approaching the cage. Wisely, he slid out of the way as Thor raised a mug of ale.

“To our victory!” the prince shouted with glee, a grin on his face. He was echoed by cheers and laughter and the great quaffing of alcohol.

“Victory,” Smaug murmured in a barely audible voice as he leaned back, away from the drunk Asgardians. Loki shook his head as he looked back towards Thor who was fumbling with some keys. He managed to smash the right one to the lock on Smaug’s cage after a few attempts.

Loki started, placing a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “Brother, this is not wise,” he warned despite the fact that he knew the older prince would not listen. He found his grip on Thor being pried off as his brother reached in to drag Smaug out by the arm.

“A dragon! His head is fitting trophy in the throne room,” some drunken warrior called. It didn’t help that the same drunken warrior let out a laugh and continued, “Volstagg, your axe would be a fitting weapon.”

Someone had pulled a bench and Smaug struggled to pull himself out of the grasp of the inebriated warriors who were dragging him towards it. Loki managed to push his way through the crowd again to get to Thor. “Brother, father will not be happy,” he cautioned again, trying to make his voice heard over the din.

Thor turned to look at his younger brother and frowned slightly, as if he had thought he heard something. However, when Volstagg pushed his massive battle axe into his hands, the blonde prince soon forgot and heaved the weapon up, hefting it with one hand. Loki grimaced as he saw that Smaug was already being lugged over towards the possible site of his execution.

“Fools!” the dark-haired prince hissed. However, as soon as he said it, Smaug lurched forward and his captors, taken off-balance by the change in force, lost their hold on his shoulders and fell to the ground. The dragon lunged at Thor, knocking the Asgardian prince to the ground. As soon as they saw their prince fall, the warriors let out an outraged roar and fell upon Smaug, dragging him off the prince as they kicked and beat him viciously with their iron boots and armored fists.

Loki found himself avoiding punches and kicks as he reached Thor. The blonde prince was massaging his throat where Smaug had tried to strangle him.

“That treacherous worm!” Thor rumbled, high displeasure etched in the deep frown of his face. He brushed dirt off his armor as he pushed Loki away from him, driving a steel-tipped boot into Smaug’s stomach with a well-placed kick.

“Thor, you stupid oaf! Stop it! Stop it right now!” the younger prince screamed. Their father had given them the dragon as their ward and prisoner. If Thor wasn’t willing to uphold the duty, then Loki would to please Odin, however hard it was to please their father. “There’s no dignity in beating a defeated opponent!” he added, knowing that Thor was big on his so-called honor.

The big warrior seemed to ponder this, looking over at Loki until Smaug opened his mouth. “Defeated? I am not yet defeated!” the dragon spat, a trickle of blood sliding down his chin.

Loki wanted to slap both of them. However, his thoughts were drowned by the roars of drunken warriors as they beat down on Smaug a bit more, to put him back in his place. Pushing his way through the crowd, Loki seized Thor and shouted in his face. “You fool,” he snapped angrily. “What do you think Father is going to do when he hears of this?”

That seemed to have snapped Thor out of his drunken thoughts. The blonde prince turned, his sky-blue eyes narrowing slightly as he frowned and thought over it. His frown said that he was in intense thought.

“He’s our ward. Our prisoner,” Loki reasoned, putting a hand on Thor’s broad shoulder. The prince subtly channeled some magic through his touch to mollify the warrior. Blowing through his nose in exertion, Thor looked over at his younger brother and gave a curt nod before just stumbling off as if nothing had happened here. Dazed. Drunk.

Loki thought the whole spectacle was disgusting. And other Asgardians wondered why he disliked his brother so. It was obvious, wasn’t it? He glanced over towards some servants and gestured for them to take the cage back inside to the dungeons. Smaug would thank him for it, hopefully.

Pursing his lips as he watched the servants drag the unconscious dragon into the cage, Loki realized that maybe he should bring some healing ointments down for their prisoner. If Odin cared to visit, he would notice the dark bruises and cuts that had been inflicted on him and would question and Loki did not want to be blamed for every bit of tomfoolery that Thor seemed intent to commit.

Sighing, the prince trailed after the cage as it rolled off the cloisters into the dimly lit hallways of the palace. He would be put back to the dungeons, it seems, where Smaug was fit to belong. As the group meandered down the passageways and stairs, Loki couldn’t help but wonder what Odin would’ve done if Thor had killed the dragon. Most likely nothing—Thor was ever the golden child. So why was Loki insistent on keeping the dragon alive?

Smaug woke up again when he was placed back into the dungeon cell Loki had seen him last before the festivities. The dragon’s golden eyes opened as he glanced over his surroundings again and he spat out some blood from his mouth from a loose tooth before coughing a bit. Loki offered a smile as he washed his hands in a basin of herbal water, taking out some wet bandages to bind any hurt.

“You should be grateful,” Loki remarked as he worked, spreading some ointments and salves over the bandages. He moved over to bind the starched linen over Smaug’s arm, where the iron-tipped boots of the Asgardian warriors had broke skin. The dragon drew his arm away, his eyes narrowed, and Loki clucked with disapproval.

“Please, it’s not poisoned. I have been and am trying to help you all along,” the prince sighed, adopting a disappointed look. “I want to be your friend, remember?”

He grabbed Smaug’s arm again and drew it over the table between them. Wrapping up the nasty cut carefully, Loki didn’t notice the trickle of Smaug’s blood until some of it leaked onto his own skin.

Yelping with pain, Loki rubbed it off vigorously with a towel, but it still left angry red welts where it had contacted his arm. “It burns,” he hissed with shock. After he had collected himself, his green eyes found Smaug’s smirking face.

“What else do you expect from dragon’s blood?” Smaug remarked nonchalantly as he wiped away at his cut with a finger and then cleaned off his hand with a towel. The wound seemed to have already begun knitting itself back together.

“We are fire made flesh,” he continued a bit wistfully. Loki couldn’t help but note that Smaug had only his fire in spirit at the moment.

The younger prince frowned slightly, his lips pursed with annoyance. He regretted saving Smaug and wished he had let the dragon get kicked and punched a bit more by Thor and his cronies. However, as soon as he met Smaug’s eyes again, those feelings of annoyance disappeared and Loki found himself curious about what other knowledge Smaug harbored. Or more generally, what a dragon knew.

Leaning back into his chair, Loki scanned over Smaug again, who had found interest in a book left on the table. It was obvious that the dragon was illiterate by the way he was holding it upside down and flipping through the pages with his nose and brow wrinkled in a manner that Loki assumed to be of frustration.

“That’s a book, Smaug,” Loki remarked, believing that perhaps, the dragon was illiterate. What else could he expect from one out of the savage northern wastelands?

“I know what it is,” the dragon answered back. Ah, now he had righted the book and was glancing over the illuminated pictures within the covers. His mother had a few books in her collection and Smaug had learned to read his runes from those manuscripts. He blinked his yellow eyes and looked up over at Loki, a questioning look in his gaze. Of course Loki would think that the dragon was stupid, as all Asgardians looked down upon the savage firedrakes, as Smaug had been told.

A small snort of disgust came from his throat as he offered Loki a smoldering glare, his mood suddenly taking a turn for the worse.

“What are you doing here, Asgardian prince? What would your brother say if he saw you consorting with a savage beast like me?” Smaug snapped, leaning forward slightly. His fingers dug into the wood of his chairs’ armrest and even though he was in such a diminished form, his augmented strength caused the material of the chair to deform and splinter slightly underneath his fingers.

Loki was dismayed by the gesture and rose to his feet. “I’ll leave you then, serpent,” he snapped angrily. Annoyance prickled at him. The ungrateful bastard! Loki had gone out of his way to rescue the dragon, and yet, he was treated like dirt clinging to his foot. With his hands clenched into tight fists, the prince stormed out of the cell.

As soon as he was alone again, Smaug relaxed, his rage simmering in the cauldron of his heart as he swallowed a few deep breaths. The dragon bit his lip as he glared after Loki’s retreating figure but turned his head away and slumped down onto his bed with a low growl that sounded too loud for his form.

 

The next morning, Loki awoke up a groan as he realized that Odin and Frigga were heading up north to assess the damages wrought by Smaug. It would leave the Council to the simpering bureaucrat, Magnir Liefson. Liefson was too heavy handed in his politics for Loki’s liking and, in a way similar to Odin’s, had a fond spot for Thor. Too free of a fond spot. The young prince assumed that he was catering to the next king and the councilor would be richly rewarded in Thor’s reign for his subservience.

Sleipnir’s mouth suddenly appeared as his square teeth nipped off a few strands of hay clinging to Loki’s hair. As promised, Loki had spent the night with the stallion. A thick tongue licked at his cheek as Loki rose to his feet, brushing off dirt from his clothes.  A small knicker came from Sleipnir’s mouth as he saw Loki leaving the royal stables. Offering the stallion a small, tired smile, the prince reached down to rub Sleipnir’s muzzle affectionately.

“I will be back, you great idiot,” he murmured. Giving the horse one last pat, Loki wove a spell of concealment over himself to freshen up his appearance as he headed towards his own chambers. Once there, Loki changed into more presentable clothing and dispelled his magic. A cool breeze rolled in from the artificial lake Odin had built for Frigga’s pleasure and Loki couldn’t help but sigh with some semblance of bliss. Life was good, or seemed good for now.

He decided to head down into the dungeons to check on Smaug’s condition. The dragon’s healing powers were phenomenal, from what Loki had seen of his beating last night and how quickly the bruises disappeared. Loki was motivated by curiosity to venture into the dragon’s lair again, but he remembered Smaug’s rage last night. Hopefully the dragon had quelled his anger for now.

Before he even entered the dungeons, the strange amount of people wandering about sufficiently confused him. They looked to be a ragged bunch, dressed in cheap furs and crudely worked leather. Their weapons, hanging from their belts, were rusty and not of even mediocre quality. Loki was sufficiently confused until he saw the gleam of gold on one of their chests. It was a nicely tooled, out of place on the stinking chest of one of these thugs. The emblem displayed was a boar’s head over a crossed sword and axe.

“Laertes’ Kamprum,” Loki whispered underneath his breath. Laertes was an immigrant to Asgard from the wild wastes of Vanaheim. He had brought with him the savage blood sport of gladiatorial games to the capital and now was a rich man with his wealth built on the corpses of slaves and prisoners. Of course, his Kamprum, or arena, was not located in the capital itself, but a day’s march or so away from the golden walls; tolerant as he may be, Odin wasn’t particularly fond of the blood sport, but that didn’t stop many of the Asgardian nobility to watch and wager on the matches and even buy some of the Kamprums. Taxed, the arenas were too big of a revenue for the All-father to outlaw it.

“What is the meaning of this?” Loki demanded one of the men, a brute that looked to be in charge of the entire situation.

Pasting a slimy smile onto his face, the man rubbed his fingers together before clasping them into a fist in front of his chest. Was he trying to go for a servile look? “Ah, Prince Loki,” he purred in a low rumble. “We are just concluding a transaction.”

Loki raised a brow and retained a calm face, despite the sour taste that infiltrated the back of his mouth. “And what sort of transaction would that be?” he asked, his eyes sliding over towards the dungeons. Liefson was a known sponsor of this particular school of combat and Loki couldn’t help but wonder if it was him who was dealing out the prisoners to the school. Odin held no truly powerful prisoners that would wreak havoc if released. All except for the dragon. But he really wasn’t powerful anymore, was he?

“Your older brother, Prince Thor, has agreed to lend us the dragon,” the man answered back with a slow nod.

Thor? “My brother would not agree to this,” Loki replied back. What in the name of Bor’s left shoe was he thinking? Loki’s fingers curled into a slight fist. Biting his lip, he added, “On whose authority are you removing these prisoners of the state?”

“Council Liefson and Prince Thor,” he answered back boldly. He reached into his pockets, offering Loki a rather official looking document. Loki couldn’t help but snatch it out of the man’s hand and pored over it. Apparently, some of the prisoners were to be sent to the Kamprun as a method of execution. Not unheard of, seeing that it was in the interest of the government to make some extra money for itself. And it was a good way to get rid of some irredeemable prisoners.

Thor’s scrawl was on it. Liefson’s signature was also on it, along with the imprint of his insignia on the wax.

But Smaug as well?

“I do not believe the All-father would sanction the move of this particular prisoner,” Loki pointed out sharply, an edge of indignation creeping into his voice.

“Lord Liefson and Prince Thor speak with the authority of the All-father when he is absent.  The dragon will be returned if the All-father sees fit, and half of all earnings in his matches will go to the royal coffers,” the man explained with some bit of indignation in his voice as well. “It is the best deal that we have offered to anyone.”

Loki found the corner of his lip twitching into a frown. Was this man trying to provoke him? Despite his less favored status, Loki was still a prince. “I would watch the way you talk with me,” he warned lowly, his head tilting downwards in a manner that suggested some amount of threat.

“Prince Thor is very pleased with the offer,” he continued before turning on his heels down to the dungeon, probably to oversee the removal of the prisoners.

“I have not dismissed you,” Loki remarked sharply even though the man was already heading off. Of course, he had been slighted enough to know that no one really cared for the prince in the shadows. He sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the previous days’ events hang heavy on his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he filled his chest with air to relax himself again.

Striding down the stairs after the man, he heard the creak of wheels as the prisoners were removed towards one of the loading bays. Loki hurried up to see some of the meaner, baser prisoners being hauled out in cages. But none of them was the one he was seeking, the one with the sharp-angled face and burning yellow eyes.

“You have no authority to remove the dragon from the palace premises,” Loki stated gravely, hoping that maybe they would listen. Or being the thick idiots they were, they would fall into his farce.

A couple of the guards turned, frowning slightly.

“Prince Loki, we were given leave to take the prisoners. Your brother Thor and the Councilor have signed the papers,” he explained.

“The dragon is not solely his or the Councilor’s charge. I was not consulted and I refuse to allow the dragon to be taken,” Loki gritted out. “In case you do not know, Prince Thor and I were given equal charge over this particular prisoner.”

The man offered a rather disarming smile and spread his arms. “You must bring the issue up with our supervisor,” he stated and jerked his chin towards the man Loki had argued with earlier.

Closing his eyes, Loki allowed a small hiss to escape his mouth. “I will have your head for this.”

Then, he swept off towards the lower dungeons without another look back at the scene. He was so sick and tired of being pushed to the side like he didn’t matter. Was he not a prince as well? Did he not have authority? His feet flicked against the stairs as he came upon the lower level. And yes, they had just managed to get him into the wagon cell.

“If you remove him, I will have all your heads,” Loki warned lowly to the men. A couple of them turned and shrugged their shoulders. Of course, they knew that Odin would forgive Thor, whatever he did. Loki was left looking frustrated.

Smaug raised his head and met Loki’s eyes. There was a questioning glint in those yellow eyes and Loki merely shook his head, unsure of what to say to the dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be from most Smaug's POV so yayyy. I have to confess I've always wanted to pretend to be a dragon.


	4. On the Dawn-Bright Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The free bird thinks of another breeze  
> and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees  
> and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn  
> and he names the sky his own

Having resigned to his fate at the moment, he had slept through most of the journey, only awakened by the intermittent clangs of the wagon parts against each other or a bright slat of sunlight that managed to hit his eyes. Or maybe the clank of the chains around his wrists and feet or the soft chatter of alien voices and tongues outside. Could it be the wind that was blowing through the bars of the cage that gently woke him? Or was it the smells that seemed too sharp for his sensitive nose?

No, he finally woke up when the wagon lurched to a halt, nearly sending him spilling from his bench. Smaug grabbed onto the edge of the seat, managing to steady himself. There were the sounds of movement from outside, but his vehicle didn’t move. Biting his lip, Smaug reached a finger up to his neck to adjust the heavy iron collar sitting on his shoulders. Then, he pressed a finger to the walls. Sturdy. Bringing his hand back, he punched the wall with it now as a fist but only hissed with pain as his knuckles were bruised again.

What a pity this body was just so weak. It disgusted him to be in this ineffectual state. His fists clenched and he closed his eyes, trying to suppress the rage that boiled inside him. Even death would offer more of a comfort…No, no. He wouldn’t think of that. There was no reason to lose hope yet. He had sworn vengeance and he would get it, even if he had to wait a thousand years. Dragons lived for a long time and they could remember their grudges for a long time as well.

He closed his eyes, leaning the back of his head against the wall as he tried to get some sleep before he was prodded around again but that was a far dream. The door at one end opened, spilling light into the shadowy interiors.

“Out with you,” a man growled. Some sort of hook was jerked into the cell and he felt himself being dragged out by his feet by the man. Smaug managed to get up for a bit but the man jerked his hook again and the dragon fell to his knees heavily. He noticed that the hook was entangled with the chains about his ankles and he made a move to take it out.

A low growl of annoyance rumbled from his throat but then he felt something heavy strike the side of his head. It didn’t hurt too much, but it stunned him and, yes, he did feel blood trickle down his neck.

“I don’t want to damage the goods too much, but you should learn a little bit of obedience,” the man continued. “The name is Altan of the Blue Wolves, but you, my friend, will refer to me as the Captain.” He leaned down to hook Smaug’s neck with his implement and bring the dragon closer to him. Then, the Captain offered a smile, a wolf-like smile. “Is that clear with you?”

Smaug didn’t say anything but look back into the Captain’s dark, nearly black eyes. He just merely nodded weakly, his head ringing from the blow and the smell of alcohol on the other man’s breath.

As the Captain turned, Smaug managed to heave himself up onto his knees and then his feet as he shuffled down from the wagon cell. He glanced over his captor as if scanning him. This would be someone he would kill one day. Along with the rest of the Asgardians. Burn them all.

The man known as Altan of the Blue Wolves wasn’t especially tall. He was short and stocky, with some of the widest shoulders Smaug had ever seen on any Asgardian. He was dressed in furs, like the rest of them with the emblem of the boar’s head pinned proudly on his barrel chest. All of the hair on the Captain looked to be braided, from his thin mustache, black beard, and long, raven-colored hair.

“Well, come along now, scaly,” the Captain called, gesturing for Smaug to follow him. The dragon blinked, having half a mind to break free until he glanced around. He was surrounded by walls mounted with guards. The gate was already shut and he didn’t think he had the ability to climb up the walls. He wasn’t sure where he was taken and what this place could be but he remembered one phrase: Kamprun.

Smaug followed after the Captain and was directed to a line of prisoners heading into a large building. The smell was atrocious but Smaug bore it quietly, his yellow eyes glancing about as he searched the area. Maybe it was just the prisoners. The dungeons of the palace were preferable to this.

The line moved steadily forward until Smaug could hear the sound of splashing water. Were the prisoners being put in a river running through the building? But it was small! Of course, Smaug had never known about the invention of water pipes and was sufficiently confused to see no river, but a stream of water directed down from the ceiling onto the bodies below.

“Take off your clothes, son, and place it over here,” a man told him, pointing to a basket full of dirty rags. “Then head to the showers.”

One of the prisoners began to strip his tunic off and then moved off. Smaug assumed he was to do the same so he pulled off his kilt and threw it into the pile of clothes. Then, he moved down the corridor to be drenched by the water. The shock of the cold took his breath away and he nearly hissed aloud with surprise. However, he was loathed to let any sign of weakness show and quietly bore it, closing his eyes as the liquid ran down his head, shoulders, and chest. Dragons did not fear the cold.

Before long, someone shouted for them to move out. The general mass of the prisoners moved towards the back of the bath house and Smaug moved along with them. There were all sorts of prisoners. Some looked no different from Asgardians, some from Vanaheim, some humanoid, some others…just different looking. All prisoners, he supposed, just like him.

Another short hall joined the bathhouse and Smaug saw a square of light he assumed to be a door at the end. A rough tunic, trousers, and sash was handed to him and Smaug pulled them on before moving along with the flow of movement down the hall, out the exit, and into a large expanse of ground enclosed by high walls staffed with guards. The prisoners, probably numbering fifty or so, milled about, glancing around nervously and talking amongst themselves.

“Welcome, my friends!”

The voice of the Captain rang out through the area, echoing off the walls. The prisoners quieted as heads swiveled to face the stocky man who had just entered through the massive gates at the end of the field.

“Welcome, welcome! Welcome to Laertes’ Kamprun, where you win glory or at least die with dignity!” the Captain boomed. He walked down among the prisoners, who, much to Smaug’s surprise, did not attempt to mob or kill him. Perhaps many of them had given up.

“Today, your training begins. You will sweat and bleed and, in time, you will fight for your life. There will be some of you who will have your heart’s blood running out of your throats onto the sands in a week’s time and there will be some of you who will be freed with gifts of women and gold if you have proven your worth in the arena. But before that, there are some rules that I want to drill into your heads, my friends, either now or with cane and whip!”

The Captain offered them a grin as he raised his hook and nine-tailed scourge.

“One. You obey the order of any man above you. Disrespect them at your peril. Right now, your life is ours to dispose of, my friends,” he continued. He jerked his whip towards the side walls where the heads of the rebellious prisoners decorated long pikes.

“Two. You will quarrel with your fellows at your own peril. Each of you is an economic investment and if one is lost, well, someone is taking the blame, my friends. We’ll send you against the strongest warriors and have him publicly torture you for the show.

“Three. Attempts to escape will be punished very, very harshly, my friends. Words will not do it justice. They are not tolerated.”

The Captain cleared his throat again as he walked back to the gates where he had arrived through. The massive doors groaned open. “Now, you will fight at the honor of Laertes,” he concluded. “May the Fates be on your side.”

 

* * *

 

 

They were given meals first. Smaug had not eaten for some time and though the fare at the Kamprun was not comparable to the food they served in the palace dungeons, it was palatable. He quietly found a place by himself in the common hall, tearing bread to pieces to dip into the thick soup that they offered. Not good charred flesh, but he had not eaten for some time.

“Dragon,” someone hissed.

Smaug raised his head, his yellow eyes locking with the brown ones of a mammoth Asgardian with teeth filed into sharp points. His skin had been nicked repeatedly all over his body and the scars had toughened into callouses. Then, he was tattooed from head to toe in what looked like red scales.

“I say Laertes was swindled when he bargained the Prince with this one,” the man continued. A few of his companions chuckled in amusement at the jape. “I am the only dragon in this Kamprun.”

Smaug blinked. “Your name?” he queried.

“They call me the Blood-Drake on the fields,” the tattooed man stated with a smirk of amusement.

“Your birth name,” Smaug continued, raising a brow.

“You’ll call me the Blood-Drake, oaf,” the Blood-Drake stated with a low growl. He leaned forward menacingly but the low toll of the bells signaled that lunch was over. The real training, whatever it was, would begin.

The Blood-Drake, leaned forward, putting a calloused hand on Smaug’s shoulder as he hissed, “You’ll see who the real dragon is out on the fields, bastard.”

Smaug blinked a bit, digesting the information. A small frown tightened the area between his brows but he finished the rest of his stew and headed out towards the training grounds. Though this entire world and way of life was alien to him, the dragon’s quick mind had picked up most of what to do and how to do it. He quickly adjusted to the situation.

So, when the prisoners—no—gladiators moved to pick up their weapons, he did so as well. The blunted wooden sword felt strange in his hands at first, but soon, he molded himself to it. An instructor went through different types of thrusts and parries with them, attacks and defenses. Smaug was paired up with a partner and they practiced as well. The dragon’s greater strength and quicker reflexes proved to be too much for the other man who stated that it wasn’t fair going against a real dragon, despite the fact that he was diminished so.

Smaug had to smile at that. His partner introduced himself as Jan, a healer, and he had been jailed on the count of ‘poisoning’ one of his patients, even though he had no reason to do so. Jan was flabbergasted when guards had stormed into his apartment to drag him to a prison. Justice, Jan had told him, in the provinces was dead and the governors were milking their lands for whatever it was worth. Surprisingly, Jan proved himself a rather likeable Asgardian and despite all the qualms Smaug had about their people, he found himself warming up to the ex-healer.

During one of their relief sessions, Jan tapped Smaug’s shoulder as he drank some water. Sparring was hot work and the men were allowed a break in the shade of the wall.

 “Smaug, are there really still dragons up there in the north? I thought they had all died out, or there were only one or two of them left,” Jan remarked.

For a moment, Smaug wasn’t sure whether to reveal any information to Jan, but Jan had an open, honest face. He was at odds with the government. No, it wasn’t one of Odin’s spies. Jan couldn’t be.

“There are quite a few dragons in the north,” he stated back slowly. “There’s not enough land to go around, hence why I traveled south.”

He was stupid to have, really. Or was he ambitious? The lines between those two were quite blurred but he knew that it had been a gamble that he had lost.

“Will there be more of you heading south?” Jan pressed. He sat down heavily, wincing as he rubbed a sore muscle in his leg. Smaug had noticed the healer’s slight limp in battle, though Jan moved as if he had forgotten about it. An injury?

“Not all of them are as foolhardy as me,” he concluded finally as he placed his cup back down by the water barrel and offered Jan a hand to help him up.

 

* * *

 

 

Smaug decided he was going to lie quietly in the Kamprun. No incidence, no fights, none of that. At least for the first day.  And the first day passed without much incidence for him. Already, one of the gladiators had been imprisoned in the dungeons for brawling with another person. There had been one escape attempt and now the poor criminal was awaiting the Captain’s pleasure.

He was assigned a cell in the main dormitories and was rather surprised to see that he had a roommate. The man, if he could be called that, was larger than any Asgardian he had ever seen, with pale blue skin veined with darker tracings, red eyes, and a small set of horns on a scarred head. An ice giant of Jotunheim, just like he had seen before in the books that his mother had! There was something…familiar about his scent that Smaug couldn’t exactly place. The giant lifted his ruby eyes to him, pausing in his task. His large fingers held a half-carved object of wood.

“So you’re the dragon,” the blue giant stated, his voice heavy with a foreign accent. “I thought you would be…bigger. More impressive. They told me that Laertes had been swindled.”

Smaug’s eyes narrowed as he heard the veiled insult. His companion only chuckled in amusement.

“I can see the fire in your eyes. Do not take me for an enemy outside the arena if we are to sleep together. My name is Raureif.”

“Smaug,” he returned before he heavily sat down on his bunk. Very, very uncomfortable. For a moment, he missed the Asgard dungeons.

“I would warn you to watch for bed bugs, but my previous roommate was fastidious about cleanliness,” Raureif offered as he resumed carving the figurine.

“What happened to him?” Smaug asked.

“He was killed recently in a tournament. From what I heard, torn apart by some hellhounds that Laertes had bought,” the giant answered. He grunted softly as he examined his work and set it upon a shelf that had all sorts of carved pieces on it. “My roommates don’t usually last long. I hope that’s not the issue with you.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

“Good,” Raureif stated with a smile. He turned towards the lantern in their room. “I have a fight scheduled for tomorrow and I want to have the best sleep of my life if I am to die. Bed bugs will be the last of your worries if you snore.”

Smaug didn’t even have time to reply before the light flickered out.

 

* * *

 

 

His first fight. Smaug knew that he would win, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious about the ordeal. He had never really given much thought to Aesir before but now his stay in the Kamprun had forced him to think about certain things that he would’ve never thought of before. Many of the gladiators were brought in from the prisons. Others were slaves. They all talked of a home they missed, a family they would return to once they won the crowd’s love and favors. They talked high voices of false hope as if it was achievable, but even Smaug knew that the cold hard truth of it was that many of them would never see home or family.

Today, his first fight was not against a gladiator, but against one of those hellhounds that Raureif had mentioned to him on that first day. Raureif had been a mentor of sorts for the dragon and he was glad of the ice giant’s assistance.

The ice giant had an interesting backstory. He was an old warrior, one of those prisoners brought back after Odin’s last campaign against the Jotunheim King Laufey. Laertes had snatched him up in a quick purchase after Odin agreed to allow some of the prisoners to be sold as slaves to fund the royal treasuries and Raureif had been fighting since. He was one of those legendary champions that Laertes hired out to the rich to fight against whatever they wanted to pit against an ice giant. The scars were testament to Raureif’s survival and resilience.

“Hellhounds aren’t too scary by themselves. You should be worried if there is a pack of them, but Laertes will not risk having you killed,” Raureif had explained. He had shown a vicious bite scar on his forearm. “Avoid their jaws and you should be fine.”

 _Avoid the jaws._  Smaug’s yellow eyes narrowed as he watched the hellhound in its cage. The creature was massive and its shoulders were as high as he was tall. It had been starved before the fight and it was growling and snapping and slavering. The poor beast was obviously mistreated with mange in its fur and a wild look in its eyes. The teeth were wicked looking, but many of them were broken, either by its handlers or in previous fights. They would not get through the tough leather armor he had strapped on.

For a moment, he wondered what a dragon would have become if he had been caged and starved and beaten. Dragons were fire made flesh, and fire could not be controlled. He would never allow himself to be in the same state as the hellhound. Killing it would be a mercy.

“Your turn, scaly!” the Captain called. He shoved a sword into Smaug’s hands and pushed him out towards the entrance to the arena.

Smaug was first surprised by the amount of people that packed the arena. They were loud and the odor of such packed masses offended his nose, especially when combined with the sweat and blood of the arena. The dragon’s eyes followed the movement of a couple of men who were dragging away the dead body of previous gladiator from the jaws of a fellbeast. The fellbeast looked similar to a dragon, except it was much smaller and not sentient. Its wings had been punctured so that it would be grounded but the claws and venomous teeth would be more than enough for most warriors.

As he stepped out of the canopy and into the light, the cheers grew louder. The chants of dragon erupted, some of it mocking in tone. It irked him and he found his gaze lowered back to the sands of the arena. The fellbeast had been dragged away screeching by a group of handlers and from the opposite end of the arena, the hellhound was loosed.

Its mad red eyes focused on him and it charged and even Smaug was surprised by its speed. It was desperate for food. As its shoulders crashed into Smaug, the dragon was toppled over onto his back to be overwhelmed with the stink of the filthy creature. The hellhound’s attack was greeted by a roar from the crowd, followed by boos.

However, Smaug wasn’t exactly pinned down. He managed to shove his armored forearm into the creature’s mouth to stop it from snapping at his head. The hellhound took the arm eagerly, its jaws closing down on the dragon’s arm. Smaug could feel the bones grind together, but not break. After all, he still was a dragon.

With his other arm, he aimed to drive the point of his sword into its chest. The first blow glanced off ribs and only maddened the beast’s struggles. Smaug winced as he felt some blood run down his arm where the creature’s long canine’s had pierced through the chinks of the leather bracer and into his flesh. The second blow slid in cleanly and Smaug felt the creature shudder and stiffen as the metal slid its length into the animal’s heart. The massive weight of the hellhound suddenly dropped down on him. The hellhound allowed a small whine from its throat as it died, his red eyes glazing over as its head lolled against his chest.

Bathed in the hellhound’s stinking blood, Smaug managed to extricate himself out from under the stinking mass. His arm was aching and he turned towards the exit of the arena, glad to be done with the whole ordeal. The crowd’s loud cheering suddenly exploded to a roar and that was the only warning he received before another hellhound slammed into him. This one was even larger than the one he had just killed and he noted that its teeth were  _not_ broken.

Smaug made a better note this time to avoid the jaws. He was knocked onto the ground but slid away before the hellhound could pin him down with its massive front paws. His blade flashed out as he slashed at its thick neck but only succeeded in shaving off its thick hanks of hair. The creature turned quickly and it lunged at him again, its teeth catching and tearing loose the gauntlet he had on his injured forearm.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. It was a new word he had learned in the Kamprun and this was a decidedly good situation to use it. The crowd was positively deafening right now that they could see his blood.

The hellhound was occupied in savaging his gauntlet, searching for an arm it could sink its teeth in. Smaug took his opportunity then, charging forward towards its side and slashing forward at its back legs. The hound let out a loud howl as its hindquarters collapsed due to the severed tendon. It twisted around, hoping to catch Smaug in his jaws but the dragon was too nimble for the now-crippled beast. He swung his blade and the hellhound lost both its forelegs.

The maddened crowd erupted. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

But he didn’t hear the crowd. He felt pity for the maddened beast.

Smaug plunged his blade into the creature’s chest.

 

* * *

 

 

“You were splendid out there! I thought you died when the first one was on top of you!” Jan bubbled positively as he bandaged up Smaug’s injured arm. The healer had proven his worth as a doctor and the Captain had wisely chosen him to join the medical corps of the Kamprun. It was a good break for the Asgardian, seeing that he could barely swing a metal blade.

Smaug allowed a small smile to flit across his lips. “Dragons are tougher to kill,” he remarked. It was unlucky for the animals that the hellhounds and others had to be captured for the purpose of entertainment. Not to mention the people that were forced into it…Blood sport for the amusement of the masses. The idea made him seethe.

“I’m always surprised by how quickly your wounds heal, but this bite isn’t knitting up as fast as I predicted,” the doctor continued. Smaug grunted in reply, much to Jan’s annoyance. His eyes were on the current match at hand: Blood-Drake against a couple of the newer gladiators. The champion warrior moved fast and cut down his opponents in cruel ways to amuse the crowds.

Blood-Drake had just pinned down the last gladiators and lopped off a leg. With a shout, he pitched the limb into the crowd, sending shining droplets of crimson into the air. Blood-Drake continued to cut off limbs, despite the man’s screams of mercy, and continued to offer them as souvenirs to the spectators. As a culmination of the entire performance, the champion hacked off the genitals of the half-dead gladiator and hoisted them into the air before throwing it up to the stands. He did not bother to kill the man.

Smaug found his fingernails digging into his palms as he heard the adulation of the crowds. They were no better than animals, baying for blood.

“Jealous?” Jan remarked playfully, following Smaug’s gaze. Smaug’s reply was icy as his eyes were positively blazing with fire. Though he knew that his friend was a dragon, this was the first time Jan ever felt true danger in Smaug’s presence.

“No, I’m just wondering how best to kill him.”

 

* * *

 

 

The days passed and Smaug became a local star of sorts. The city that the Kamprun was situated in was infatuated the idea of a real dragon in their midst, though however powerless he was, and threw money at Laertes to see him fight. And he did fight. He fought with mercy, to put the captured beasts out of their misery and to spare those criminals the cruelty of a painful death from the likes of Blood-Drake and his ilk. However, it was his swiftness in execution that served to draw the crowds to the games, despite the fact that they were not getting anything ‘spectacular.’

He had heard gossip that Odin would be returning back to the capital soon and he would head to the dungeons again. Although he was eager to leave this life, he found himself wondering what would happen to Jan and Raureif. They were bound to the Kamprun and they would stay there until they died or Laertes offered the rare mercy of freeing them.

However, there was that one morning he woke up. Raureif had left early, as he always did, to break his fast. Smaug headed down towards the dining hall and was slightly worried when Jan was there to meet him, as he usually was. Immediately, the gears in the dragon’s mind clicked to settle upon a couple of conclusions. He turned back where he came, heading towards Jan’s quarters. The open door and the smell of blood…

Smaug almost tore the door off its hinges as he stormed in to find Jan, bloody and unconscious, sprawled on the ground. A savage snarl tore from his mouth as he bent down to hold Jan’s head up. The doctor’s blood-soaked chest rose and fell with each breath and Smaug was relieved to find that he was still alive. However, the man’s leg was broken, twisted at a savage angle.

“Jan, I am going to get you a healer,” the dragon stated slowly, purposefully. He checked the man’s body and noticed a claw-like laceration down Jan’s chest. Something tightened in his throat and his nostrils flared slightly as he smelled a familiar stench.

Jan made a soft groan as his pale blue eyes fluttered open. He reached up, attempting to sit but the pain in his chest was too bad and his face scrunched together in an expression of agony.

“Smaug?” the healer murmured, almost sleepily.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Smaug replied. He pulled a pillow down from Jan’s bed and placed it carefully underneath the man’s head. “I’ll be back quickly.”

Jan made a motion to reach up for him, as if he wanted him to stay, but Smaug shook his head. He needed a healer right now and then he would have his vengeance against the perpetrator.

Smaug already knew who it was. That person would pay dearly.

**Author's Note:**

> Long chapters so it might be some time before the next one comes out. :3  
> hope you enjoyed it!


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